Sans Emotion
by Atarashii
Summary: Death.


**Title**: Sans Emotion  
**Author**: Atarashii [chibikits(at)livejournal(dot)com]  
**Series**: Fire Emblem  
**Rating**: PG  
**Genre**: Tragic  
**Pairing**: RathxWil (implied)   
  
**Warning**: **Death of two main characters** (although one of said deaths is more implied than anything else, but whatever)   
  
**Disclaimer**: Fire Emblem and all its associated characters do not, and never will, belong to me. Whatever plot there is does, though.   
  
**Author Notes**: Don't ask me about how I came up with whatever this is that I wrote. It was the result of writing around 2:45am in the morning, after attempting to get rid of fucking malware shit. It's odd. It's fucked. It's anything but happy. It also probably makes no sense but, to be quite truthful . . . not quite so sure if I give a damn right now. -.-;   
  
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**Sans Emotion**   
  
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Darkness had fallen over the battlefield, dark clouds preventing the moon from shining its light down upon it. The land was shrouded in shadows, and stained a dark crimson from all the blood which had been spilt earlier. No one alive remained upon it . . . no one, that is, aside from one person.   
  
The archer continued to cradle the form within his arms, face burrowed against the fallen's hair. Blood stained his hands and his clothing, but the teenager cared not for that fact. His lips were parted, whispering one word over and over again; a name. His name.   
  
His eyes kept their shattered look, the once bright brown colour having darkened to a near-black shade with pain. No more tears were shed, for he had long since shed his last one hours ago.   
  
He remained unharmed for the most part, because of the one he held.   
  
Rath had been everything to him. His life, his light, his laughter . . . his love. He was gone now, though . . . because of him. Because the nomad just had to be his protector. His protector, even to the end . . . even when it meant dying to ensure his safety.   
  
For that he hated him. Hated him, and yet he loved him. Of course, his love overrided his hate. Then again, he could never hate Rath. Love him, yes, but hate him, no.   
  
It was love that kept him here. It was love that kept him holding on, despite the fact that the other was, indeed, dead.   
  
Dead . . . such a sad word. He wasn't afraid of death; at least, he wasn't afraid of it when he was the one to die. He did fear it, though, when it was others who were forced to succumb. The word held such finality to it, and such made it sad. Sad because it meant it was over. The end.   
  
No more being held within the other's arms. No more soft whispers in the night. No more nothing.   
  
It is over.   
  
Over.   
  
Never again.   
  
The end.   
  
Despite that, he couldn't set his lover down. He couldn't bear to let him go. Not now, not ever.   
  
"Rath . . ."   
  
With a small smile crossing his face, auburn bangs falling over and shielding his eyes from view, Wil leaned over, lips brushing against the other's forehead. He then trailed the kiss down, over closed eyelids before meeting Rath's in a light kiss.   
  
No response, and he soon drew back.   
  
"Rath . . ."   
  
He began to shake, a hand rising to press against his dead lover's face, before moving down. Hand trailed down, hesitating above where the fatal blow had been dealt.   
  
The blood had long since dried over the past hours since it had happened.   
  
Fingers pressing lightly against edge of the wound, the archer could feel nothing save for guilt.   
  
Guilt because it was his fault that the other was dead. His fault. No one else's, but him. Because he had been the one being protected.   
  
Protected . . .   
  
"Rath . . ."   
  
He leaned down, kissing cold lips one more time before setting the nomad's form onto the ground and drawing back.   
  
He smiled then.   
  
Somehow, a sword had made its way into his hand. Its blade was bloodied. The same sword which had taken his loved one from him, was going to be the sword to take his life as well.   
  
His smile widened a bit, hand running along the blade.   
  
It felt cool.   
  
The edge was sharp.   
  
Perfect.   
  
Wil looked down, taking in Rath's still form, before he nodded.   
  
"Hold on, Rath. Not much longer."   
  
Soft giggle. Haunted. Lifeless. Dead.   
  
Him. Broken. Shattered. Unfixable.   
  
The sword was positioned, its tip pressing against his chest and right where his heart rested.   
  
He drove the blade in.   
  
Pain.   
  
Crimson.   
  
Blood.   
  
Numb.   
  
"Ra . . . th . . ."   
  
Death.   
  
-----------------------------   
  
**C'est le fin.**


End file.
